


The More Things Change

by DotyTakeThisDown



Series: A Losers Club Halloween [3]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Drinking, Everyone Is Alive, Feelings, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Post-Pennywise (IT), Spoilers, feelings everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21549343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DotyTakeThisDown/pseuds/DotyTakeThisDown
Summary: A year after defeating Pennywise for good, the Losers Club reunites at Ben and Bev's place for Halloween. It's been a year of Richie coming out, and Eddie getting divorced, and the two of them dancing around this thing between them.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: A Losers Club Halloween [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531700
Comments: 4
Kudos: 127





	The More Things Change

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third and final installment in the Halloween series. These fics have been a ton of fun to write and, yes, a lot of editing happened this week while watching Chapter Two on digital (twice). I hope you enjoy it!

_You're invited to_

_Ben and Bev's_

_House in the Woods_

_Halloween Bash_

_Losers Club ONLY_

_When: Halloween, obviously_

_Where: Ben and Bev's place_

_Candy is optional. Costumes are mandatory._

**October 2017**

“Eddie!” Ben opens the door and almost immediately drags him into a hug.

“Hey, Ben.” Eddie pats him on the back—once, twice—and steps back onto the porch. The wind gusts, dusting his hair with tiny flakes of snow. The foyer is decked out for the occasion—orange lights framing the door, plastic pumpkin grinning from a table, a skeleton leaning casually against a coat rack.

Ben moves aside to let him into the house, catching the collar of a very determined dog as she tries to push out the door. “Hey there. Sit. Good girl.” Ben lets go of the dog’s collar as she continues to stare up at Eddie from the floor.

“I’m allergi—” Eddie stops, shaking his head as he steps into the house. The dog stretches out her nose, snuffling at his boots. He isn’t allergic, not really, but he’s still working on remembering that. Sometimes he wonders if it’s worth getting close to things, to know for sure. “What’s her name?”

“Belle.” Ben points out the door and the dog—Belle—trots out into the yard. She shoves her muzzle into a pile of leaves, snuffling and snorting, until Ben closes the door.

“Winston here will take your coat,” Ben says, indicating the skeleton.

“Thanks, Winston.” Eddie shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the rack. Ben leads the way out of the foyer and into the living room. There’s a fire crackling in the brick fireplace and all of his friends scattered around the room.

Bev is on the loveseat, radiant and at home.

Mike sorts through the record collection along the wall.

Bill and Stan are side-by-side on the couch, Bill’s head thrown back in laughter at whatever story Stan is telling.

And there’s Richie, standing behind them and turning to look at him. “Hey, Eds.”

“Hey, Richie.”

“Did you bring your costume?” Bill’s eyes zero in on the duffel bad slung over Eddie’s shoulder. “What is it?”

“I think the whole point of this was for it to be a surprise.” Eddie tucks the bag behind his back, like they might be able to see right through it. Richie looks like he’s trying very hard to do just that.

“I hope it’s a sexy nurse,” Richie says.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You wish.”

“Dinner’s almost ready.” Bev vaults over the back of the loveseat, her long red hair settling around her shoulders. “Now that the Losers Club is accounted for, why don’t we change before we eat?”

“There’s a couple guest rooms and the bathroom, of course,” Ben says, leading the way deeper into the house. “Someone can change in my office, if you want.”

Richie darts into one of the guest rooms, shutting the door behind him. Ben and Bev disappear into their own room. Eddie lingers in the hallway, duffel bag weighing down his shoulder, when he’s too late to claim one of the other options.

Stan emerges from the bathroom first, clad in a dusty-looking suit, a long white beard stuck to his face. There’s a leather-bound book tucked under his arm, embossed with a rendering of a bird.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Eddie asks.

Stan holds up the book and says, in a deeper and gruffer voice, “I’m off to the Galapagos Islands.”

“Ah.” Eddie steps around him to take cover in the bathroom. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Darwin.”

Eddie opens his bag, drawing out a long black cloak, black hat, and a pointed bird mask. The cloak and hat are the easiest. He stares at the mask, balanced on the edge of the sink. His mind replays the terrors of Derry, the leper, as he wonders if he should’ve chosen something else. Gone with a traditional doctor, like that Halloween so long ago, or something else. The Dread Pirate Roberts, maybe.

Eddie puts on the mask. Keeping his eyes from the mirror, he opens the door and steps out to find T’chaka, Sherlock, Daphne, and Fred staring back at him.

“You look great, Eddie,” Bev tells him, adjusting the green scarf around her throat.

“Thanks.” Eddie glances around, unable to see particularly well through the holes in the mask. “Is Richie still in there?”

“Yep.” Bill tugs his deerstalker lower onto his head and creeps over to the bedroom door. “You okay in there, Rich?”

“Fine.”

The door still doesn’t open.

“Richie, if you come out of there with clown make-up, we’re kicking you out,” Eddie warns.

“I’m the one who’s afraid of clowns!”

“Didn’t stop you from creeping us out in the clubhouse,” Eddie mutters, wandering away into the living room. His skin feels too hot under the cloak. Definitely should’ve been a regular doctor instead of a plague doctor.

“Finally!” Stan says, as the bedroom door creaks open.

Richie steps into the hall and Eddie’s mouth runs dry. He feels like he’s twelve again, standing in Richie’s bedroom with newfound butterflies making themselves at home in his gut.

Richie is a vampire, in a classic suit, with a blood-red waistcoat, spotless white shirt, and black jacket. Unlike the suits he prefers on stage, this one is perfectly tailored, showing off his chest and waist in a way that makes Eddie’s skin itch with a need that he can’t scratch on his own. A long black cape flows off his shoulders, the collar stretching high around his neck. He bounces a set of plastic fangs on the palm of his hand.

“I figure there’s no point in putting these in if we’re going to eat soon,” he says.

“I have to say this isn’t what I was expecting,” Bev says, looking him over. “Well done.”

“Yeah.” Richie looks past her, his eyes catching Eddie’s. “It felt like time for a trip down memory lane.”

A timer dings in another room. “That’s dinner,” Ben says, hurrying off. Eddie follows him to the kitchen, to be greeted by the thick scents of garlic, pasta sauce, and oregano. Ben pulls a lasagna from the oven, along with a pan of garlic bread. Belle wanders about, sniffing the air and generally being underfoot until Bev banishes her to a dog bed in the corner of the room.

Bev reaches up into the cupboard, bringing down a stack of plates. Richie cracks open a bottle of wine. Stan helps get the glasses out. The dining room table waits, decorated with a centerpiece formed of chalk-white branches, golden leaves, and a stuffed crow.

“A toast,” Bev says, once they’re all seated, “to the Losers Club.”

“To the Losers Club!” they repeat, glasses clinking together, sips taken.

“So Bill,” Ben says, as plates are filled with lasagna and garlic bread, “I hear congratulations are in order. Your new movie is a hit.”

“We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves,” Bill replies with a series note, “but it’s definitely on track to perform well and early reviews are positive.”

“So modest.” Richie nudges him with an elbow. “Campaigning for an Oscar yet?”

“Ha. The Oscars aren’t interested in me.” Bill shakes his head at him. “What about you? Any ideas for the new tour?”

“I’m between writers at the moment, to put it nicely.” Richie grimaces and stabs his fork into his lasagna with a little too much force. “Taking a break to let the dust settle.”

“And the truth?” Bev prompts.

“My last writer cussed me out and quit after the Chicago show. Truth is I don’t think he was a very good writer.” Richie’s face is as sour as the lemon in Bev’s glass of water.

“I told you as much.” Eddie claps him on the shoulder, his fingers lingering for a moment too long. He’s seen the videos of the Chicago show, _everyone_ has. He couldn’t look away the day after it happened, each time his brain picking up more details of Richie’s face, the terror and desperation and _exhaustion_ written there. When, on the last day of the tour, he broke script and announced—to the crowd, to the _world_ —that he, Richie Tozier, was gay.

“I might have a few people interested,” Bill says, “when you’re ready to get back on the horse.”

“After Christmas, I think,” Richie says. “You know me. Can’t stay away from the spotlight.”

“I’ll pass their names along after the New Year. You can take a look, let me know what you think.”

“Maybe you should take this as a sign,” Stan says, not unkindly. “We _all_ know you’re a better writer than those guys.”

“Maybe I will.” Richie turns to Mike, practically begging for a distraction. “Are you having fun discovering that there’s a world outside of Derry?”

“I’m never bored,” Mike says with a warm smile. “I came here straight from Yellowstone. Terrifying stuff.”

“Any ideas on where you want to settle down?” Stan asks.

“Not yet. I have a few options so far but it’s only been a year. There’s still so much more to see.”

“Where to next?” Bev asks.

“Back to New York with me,” Eddie answers, before Mike has a chance to. “Thought I might show him around, you know?”

“The museums, the Statue of Liberty, Times Square…” Mike looks almost wistful.

“I’ll be in New York over Christmas,” Richie blurts out. “Audrey’s always wanted to go but she just never had the time or the money. I promised to take her this year…partly to make up for her finding out about me from TMZ.”

“Give me a call,” Eddie says. “I’d love to show your sister the city.”

“Not me?” Richie teases. “I don’t get to see the city?”

“You can see whatever you want.” What’s supposed to be a joke comes out a little lower and rougher than it should. He rushes to cover it up with, “It’s not like you haven’t seen it a hundred times” which really just makes it worse.

“What about Myra?” Mike asks, oblivious to whatever _this_ is. “Does she want to come with us?”

Richie goes quiet in mid-laugh. Eddie swallows, wiping his mouth slowly with his napkin. He can feel the burn in his cheeks. “We’re divorced, actually. About six months ago.”

“Oh.” Mike shifts in his chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Eddie shrugs. “She was—she was what I wanted when I wasn’t me.”

Bev’s finger runs over her left hand and the smile she gives him is wry. “It _was_ like we were different people, during those years, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Richie coughs, his voice a strange croak. “We were.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stan says, moving his beard to a more secure location on the table to avoid getting pasta sauce on it. “I was a professor before and I’m a professor now.”

“We can’t all be _destined_ to be bird people,” Richie retorts.

“It feels like waking up from a dream,” Bill says. “Sometimes I check the newspaper, just to make sure it’s still 2017.”

“Looking at all that gray hair doesn’t convince you?” Richie points at his own hairline, barely receding.

“We were lucky,” Stan says, deathly solemn. “We’re all still here, even after waking up.”

***

“We’ve got a firepit outside, if anyone wants a bonfire,” Ben says as everyone makes their way back to the living room, wine glasses in hand.

Eddie glances out the window, into the darkened woods. He can imagine all kinds of threats out there—crazed murderers, monsters, bears, mosquitoes. “You know West Nile is still a risk, right? There were 2,038 cases reported in humans _last year_.”

“The more things change.” Richie snorts and drops a bag full of candy onto the coffee table. “I think it’s movie time, if I’m remembering our traditions correctly.”

“There are traditions?” Bev sprawls across the loveseat, only moving when Ben rounds it to join her. “Isn’t this the first annual Losers Club Halloween?”

“More or less.” Stan sits down on the couch, perched like a bird. “You—you weren’t really around for Halloween.”

Ben puts his arm around Bev. “We got together for the Halloween right after you left, and then every year after that until—”

“Until I was the only one left who remembered,” Mike finishes quietly.

“Well,” Eddie says, stepping over to the DVD case, “it’s a tradition starting right now. What should we watch?”

“Where do we want to start?” Ben asks. “Scary? Not scary?”

Richie glances at Eddie, catching his eye as they both grimace. Eddie can see the three doors in front of them like it was yesterday.

_Very Scary_

_Scary_

_Not Scary at All_

“Something Halloween,” Stan says, “but not scary.”

“I haven’t watched _Hocus Pocus_ yet this year,” Bev says. She points at the third shelf down on the case. “It’s right there.”

“Objections?” Eddie asks.

There are none. _Hocus Pocus_ goes into the DVD player.

“They should get you to light the candle, Eds,” Richie says, as the movie starts and Eddie pokes through the candy bag in search of SweeTarts.

“Fuck off, dude.” Eddie grabs two packages and drops down onto the couch next to Richie. “What makes you think I’m still a virgin?”

Richie’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. Eddie can practically feel the gears turning. “Right, I forgot about my mom.”

“Not your best work, Rich.”

“Everyone’s a critic.”

“Hush,” Stan says from the other couch. “I’ve never seen this movie before.”

“Jesus, Stan,” Richie says. “I knew you were deprived but how the fuck have you never seen _Hocus Pocus?_ ”

“Some of us have hobbies.”

“I don’t even know what you’re trying to say.”

“Shut up, you two,” Bev scolds. “Let Stan watch the movie.”

The silence lasts for longer than Eddie really expects from the Club. It’s not until the Sanderson sisters are singing ‘I Put a Spell on You’ that Richie leans over and says, “I’m going to the kitchen. Want anything?”

Eddie can feel his breath against his ear and it sends goosebumps rolling down the back of his neck. He makes the mistake of turning his head, finding Richie so close that their lips are barely an inch apart. It would be so easy to tilt his head forward, to find a kiss.

“I’m fine,” Eddie says, and he could swear Richie looks _disappointed._ Was he supposed to ask for wine? More candy? A glass of water?

“Okay.” Richie leans back, pushing off the couch. His cape gets stuck between the cushions before he tugs it free. He leaves Eddie alone on the couch, feeling like he missed a crucial lesson in school.

***

“We have to watch _Poltergeist_ next,” Richie says. “It’s tradition too.”

“It’s not a tradition if we only did it once,” Eddie snaps.

“Twice. You weren’t there for the second time.”

“Twice is also _not_ a tradition.”

“Don’t worry,” Richie says, leaning over the back of the couch, hands on Eddie’s shoulders. “I can hold your hand if you get scared.”

“For the last time, I’m not—”

Richie opens his mouth and bites down gently on the side of Eddie’s throat. The tips of his plastic fangs press into skin and Eddie falls limp. His tongue stops forming the words, brain loses track of what the words _were._ He leans back against the couch, neck tipping to the side to give Richie better access. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until it’s already done.

They’ve been dancing around this thing between them for months, in phone calls and emails and the occasional lunch when their paths cross, but they’ve never _talked_ about it. This feels different than those awkward attempts at flirting. Dangerous. Like they’re standing on the edge of the quarry, moments away from jumping.

After their return to Derry—and their memories—Eddie thought that their feelings for each other were just another thing they left behind. Sure, they’d kissed when they were kids, but that didn’t mean they would be good together as adults. Bill and Bev were proof of that.

He tries not to think too much about Ben waking Bev from the dead lights, and the hundreds of times he’s dreamt of doing the same for Richie. Those were just _dreams;_ they didn’t mean anything.

When Eddie doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, Richie lets go, backing away. The place where he’d bitten down feels cold. Eddie reaches back, catching his wrist before Richie can leave again.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Eddie asks, because he doesn’t know how else to put it. He doesn’t want Richie to run away again. He wants him here, next to him, in the hope that if their proximity lasts long enough he might finally be able to figure out what all this means.

Richie rounds the couch and sits next to him, close but not close enough. Eddie inches closer, until Richie lifts his arm and loops it over the back of the couch.

 _Poltergeist_ starts even though Eddie doesn’t remember seeing anyone put it in. He stares at the screen without registering any of the movie. Behind him, Richie’s arm slips down from the back of the couch until it rests over his shoulders. He’d distantly aware of the others around him—Stan paging through his book in the light of the fire; Bev and Ben cuddled up on the loveseat; Bill and Mike trading candy on the floor.

All at once, the butterflies he felt when they were kids are back in full force and they’ve brought a small army of friends. He hasn’t felt like this in decades, wasn’t sure he would _ever_ feel like this in the days when he didn’t remember the truth.

He has feelings for Richie. Real feelings. For his best friend. This, more than the idea of being gay or bisexual or whatever he might be, is what scares him. He doesn’t want to lose Richie, not again. This place, these people, it feels like _family_ and he can’t do anything that might break them apart.

Eddie freezes, stiff and unmoving as a statue, as the movie goes on without his attention. When the credits finally roll, he mutters something about another glass of wine and takes refuge in the kitchen. His hands shake as he pours and gulps down half of it.

“Take it easy there, Eddie,” Bev says at his shoulder. Eddie jumps, wine splashing onto his robes.

“Shit,” Eddie says, scrubbing at it with a napkin. “At least this is black.”

Bev takes the bottle from him and pours herself another glass. Eddie abandons his efforts to clean himself up and takes another swallow, more respectable this time, before setting the glass down. He wishes he had his inhaler, even if he doesn’t need it. He thinks he might be on the verge of a panic attack. Maybe a heart attack. God, he shouldn’t be out here in the middle of nowhere.

“Hey, Eddie?” Bev says, her voice quiet and gentle, when he doesn’t say anything.

Eddie tears his eyes away from Richie and looks at her for the first time. She’s smiling and there’s a glow around her that had definitely been missing in Derry. “Yeah?”

“You deserve to be happy. Don’t you think we all lost enough time, living our other lives?” Bev smiles as she looks past him at Ben. He catches her eye, his answering grin so bright it almost hurts Eddie to look at it.

“What if—” Eddie pauses, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “What if I don’t know how to be?”

Bev reaches up, adjusting the plague mask where it rests on top of his head. “Then, it’s never too late to learn.”

Richie draws Eddie’s gaze again as he stands up. The cape flows around him, a little rumpled from sitting on the couch. He looks at Eddie and, when he smiles, he can see the points of those plastic fangs.

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat as his memory takes him back to a different Halloween, a much younger Richie wearing a very similar outfit. He remembers holding hands, looking down at the piece of popcorn stuck to Richie’s mouth. He’d wanted _so badly_ to kiss Richie then, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time.

Then, two years later, he gave into the urge and kissed Richie on another Halloween night. Now, more years later than he cares to count, he wants that kiss and so much more.

How could he ever have forgotten those moments, that kiss?

Eddie is moving before he realizes what’s happening. All he knows is that he wants to kiss Richie, _right now_ , has waited decades and doesn’t want to wait another moment. Voices surround him but the words don’t register. He only has eyes for Richie, staring back at him with a question in his eyes.

Eddie’s hands come up, landing on both sides of Richie’s face, the momentum carrying him forward into a kiss.

Someone—probably Bill, maybe Bev—wolf-whistles. Stan mumbles, “About damn time.” Eddie barely notices. All he knows is Richie’s lips against his, soft and a little awkward with the plastic fangs behind them. It’s even better than Eddie remembers; they’ve both gained a little confidence and practice in the intervening years.

It stays chaste—for the most part. Eddie has to choke down a moan when Richie takes his bottom lip between his teeth. He wants to retaliate by opening his mouth, pushing his tongue against Richie’s, but Mike is somewhere in the room asking, “Do you think we should give them some privacy?” and then Stan is saying, “They can get a room.”

“Hey,” Richie says, when they break apart.

“Hey.”

“You know.” Richie’s grinning now and it’s _radiant,_ like his entire body might start glowing with the force of it. “If you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Should we—” Ben glances over at Bev like he’s looking for her help. “Should we call it a night or watch another movie?”

“I think we have time for one more,” Richie says, before he drags Eddie to the couch.

“ _Ghostbusters?_ _”_ Ben suggests. “Still Halloween-appropriate but not scary.”

“I was a _Ghostbuster_ for Halloween once,” Mike says.

“Same,” Stan says.

“I’m taking that as a yes.” Bev scans down the DVD case until she finds the right one and pops it into the player.

Eddie curls up next to Richie, closer than before. Richie’s skin is hot against his side, his thigh, the back of his neck. Richie’s arm is around him, almost possessive. It’s warm and soft and Eddie feels almost dizzy with it. He can smell traces of aftershave, almost minty, underneath the wine. It makes him want to tuck his face in the crook of Richie’s neck, close his eyes and block out the world.

Ben turns most of the lights off, leaving a single lamp in the corner and the fire to illuminate the room. It makes Eddie even more powerfully aware of Richie next to him, every shift in his body, the soft rise and fall of his chest.

By the time the movie is over, Stan has fallen asleep in the armchair and Bev can’t stop yawning. Eddie has never felt more awake, his body vibrating like a live wire. Richie’s thumb is massaging the tense muscle at the base of his neck, has been for the past ten minutes.

“I only have two spare rooms,” Ben says as he clicks the lights back on, “but there’s—”

“Dibs,” Richie interrupts.

“Dude.” Eddie scowls at him, even though he has to twist around on the couch to see his face properly. “You can’t call dibs before he even finishes. It’s against the rules.”

Richie’s smirking at him. “What rules?”

“The rules of dibs!” Eddie can’t help but feel like they’ve had a similar argument before, long ago in a very different clubhouse. An argument that ended with them both pressed into the same hammock, their legs tangled together.

“Well, it’s too late now. Guess you’ll just have to share with me, then.”

“Why would I have to share with you? There’s a whole other guest room!”

“Dibs,” Stan says, without opening his eyes.

“Eddie.” Richie’s eyes are dark in a way that makes Eddie’s stomach quiver. “Stay with me.”

“Oh.” Eddie feels like he’s been hit over the head. He swears that if he looks up, he’ll see the cartoon birds. “Oh, all right.”

Stan drags himself from the armchair, beard hanging from one ear. Ben vanishes, returning with a stack of blankets for those banished to the living room. Eddie gathers up the empty wine glasses and heads for the kitchen. He’s setting them in the sink when Bev catches his elbow.

“Let me know if there’s anything you need,” she says, punctuating it with a wink.

“I-I will,” Eddie stammers out, wondering what he could possibly ask for. His mind replays the kiss, Richie’s insistence that they spend the night in the same room, and it hits him all at once. Fire runs down his spine, even as his breath quickens with anxiety. He’s only just kissed Richie. He’s not sure if he’s ready for all _that._

“Don’t worry about all this.” Bev pats him on the arm and turns on the faucet. “Ben and I will clean up here.”

“Okay.” Eddie stumbles back a pace, his pulse hammering in his ears. “Thank you.”

Mike and Bill are settling down on the couches, but Richie is nowhere to be seen. Eddie grabs his bag and steps into the room that Richie used to change. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed and turns around, suppressing a yelp as he finds Richie close behind him.

“I think we should talk,” Richie says, moving to close the door.

All Eddie has ever done is talk. His life has become a series of calculations, weighing the pros and cons, figuring out the percentage risk. He doesn’t _want_ to do that, not here. He wants to throw himself off the quarry ledge, knowing only that the water will catch him.

“I think you should listen to me for once in your life, Rich, and shut up.”

Richie laughs, kisses him, lips teasing Eddie’s open. The vampire fangs are gone and there’s nothing to keep Eddie from pressing his tongue inside. It’s hot and wet and Eddie can’t believe he’s been missing out on this for so long. A part of his mind starts in on germs and illness but he shoves it into a box and throws that box away.

Richie’s hands come up, finding Eddie’s hips and pressing into him. As if he needs to hold him in place. As if Eddie has any intention of going anywhere. The kiss goes on and on, as the two of them take turns exploring each other. It tastes like wine and chocolate and a little like plastic.

When Richie’s tongue slips inside, Eddie hollows his cheeks and sucks. Richie moans, wrapping his arms around Eddie and pressing their bodies together from chests to thighs. Eddie can feel sweat dripping down the small of his back. He _really_ should’ve worn something else tonight.

Richie takes a step, nudging Eddie back with his body until his legs hit the end of the bed. Eddie yanks out of the kiss, almost stumbling, clinging to Richie’s shoulders for balance.

“You’re too short, Eds,” Richie says, as Eddie lifts himself up onto the bed.

Eddie spreads his legs, giving Richie enough room to fit between them. “I thought I asked you to stop talking.”

“Make me.”

Eddie loops a hand behind Richie’s head, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, and drags him forward. It _is_ easier, without Richie having to crane his head down to reach, although Eddie would never admit it to him. Their hands explore each other, with no particular destination or urgency, finding shoulders and arms and sides.

At least, Eddie’s do. Richie’s fingers grasp at the thick black material of the clock, obscuring his body underneath. It feels like a wall between them, both a protective barrier and one keeping them from moving forward.

Their lips stay locked together as Eddie runs his fingers through Richie’s hair. It’s thinner than it once was, shorter, but equally as soft. One hand stays there, keeping Richie in place, while the other travels down his throat, his shoulder, landing on his chest. Even through the waistcoat and the shirt beneath, he can feel the race of Richie’s heart. It thuds against his palm, a constant reassurance that they survived.

It’s easy to lose track of time, to lose track of _himself_ , in Richie’s arms. He can feel the frames of Richie’s glasses pressing into his face, but he can’t bring himself to pull away, to remove them. Something grows hard and uncomfortable, pressing into his stomach. Eddie barely has a moment to register _that_ _’s Richie’s cock_ before Richie shifts, bringing his hips away.

Eddie bites back a moan. He wishes he could close his thighs around Richie’s hips, hold him close again. He wonders what it might be like to grind up against him, how it might feel, if they could both get off like that. Someday, he hopes, he’ll be ready to find out.

Richie pulls away, his hands fisting in the thick material of Eddie’s cloak. “I think we should get you out of these.”

Eddie startles but between Richie and the bed there’s nowhere for him to go. “I—”

“I _mean_ , that we should change.” Richie brushes a kiss over his forehead. “Not that I’m against getting you out of them for other reasons but this cloak feels like sandpaper. No wonder plague doctors never got laid.”

“Right.” Eddie blushes as Richie moves out of the way to let him clamber off the bed. His legs feel like rubber and _oh_ he’s half-hard beneath the cloak. He can’t help but wonder if his jeans have always been this tight. “Of course. You must be hot in that.”

“I don’t know.” Richie tilts his head, appraising. “You’d have to tell me.”

Eddie’s answering laugh is too breathless, too nervous. He leans over his duffel and pulls out an oversized shirt and long pants, along with his toothbrush and toothpaste. He crosses the hall to the bathroom and manages to avoid looking at himself in the mirror until he’s done brushing his teeth.

He’s—he’s never seen himself like this. His lips are swollen and cherry red, and there’s a flush spreading across his cheeks. His hair sticks up where Richie ran his hands through it. There’s a red mark, low on his throat, where Richie bit down on him. He looks—well, he looks obscene.

He turns his back on the mirror and doesn’t look at it again as he finishes changing. When he returns, Richie ducks out to the bathroom without a word. Eddie balls up his costume and shoves it into his duffel, leaving the mask on top. He glances at the door, still cracked open.

There’s probably still space in the living room, with Mike and Bill. They wouldn’t ask. Wouldn’t judge. If he’s not ready for whatever _this_ is, he could walk away from it right now.

Eddie doesn’t move. He doesn’t have to be ready for _everything_ but he can try to be ready for _some_ things. It’s just sharing a bed. It’s not like it’s the first time.

Richie pushes back into the room, his eyes widening like he didn’t expect to find Eddie still here. His whole face softens, turning warm in a way that makes the butterflies in Eddie’s stomach flutter their wings. Richie goes to the bed, pulling back the comforter. “Come on,” he says.

Eddie turns off the light and climbs in next to him. Richie’s hand finds his cheek, his long fingers brushing over Eddie’s ear. The touch feels, impossibly, even more intimate in the dark.

Richie leans in for another kiss—or, at least, he tries to. In the dark, without his glasses, meager moonlight filtering through the blinds, Richie’s lips land on the bridge of Eddie’s nose instead.

“Is this something new you’re trying?” Eddie teases. “I’m not sure it’s working for me.”

“I’m pretty sure this is the best you’ve ever had.” The next kiss lands slightly lower, but still on his nose. “The high point of your whole life, really.”

Eddie catches Richie’s chin on two fingers, lowers it down. It _is_ the best he’s had, not that he’s had a lot of experiences to choose from, but he’ll be damned before he admits that to Richie, at least now that they’re just getting started.

His boyfriend would be insufferable.

_Boyfriend._

The word pops into his head with a strange mixture of warmth and pressure in his chest. Is that what they are now? Boyfriends? Shouldn’t they go on a date first? Do they need to _talk_ about it first?

Eddie’s lips go tense and unresponsive as his mind wanders away to that new terrifying train of thought. Richie pulls back, finger tapping at the side of Eddie’s face. “Hey,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“What are we doing?” Eddie asks, trying to remind himself to breathe.

Richie’s thumb slips across his bottom lip. “I think most people call it _making out_.”

“I mean— _damn it_. Is this—are we—”

“Whatever you want.” Richie’s voice is too high, like he’s scared. “I want to wake up next to you in the morning, and take you to dinner tomorrow night, and call you every day until I come to New York, and—see where it takes us.”

Eddie swallows hard, sure that Richie had been about to say more, glad that he didn’t. He’s not sure he could handle Richie laying out the rest of their lives together. “I want that too,” Eddie says, and kisses him again.

***

Nightmares stalk Eddie’s sleep, as they so often do. The more things change, after all.

Tonight, he’s back in the caves below the wellhouse. Pennywise looms over them all, larger than any of them have ever seen. He’s alone, chasing after Richie, only to find him caught up in Pennywise’s grasp. The dead lights are almost blinding.

He’s not going to lose Richie today. Not if there’s something he can do. His hands close around the metal spike in his hands, little different than a javelin.

“If you believe it does,” he murmurs to himself. Then, louder, “ _If you believe it does._ ”

Eddie believes. He has to, for Richie’s sake.

He throws the spike and it strikes true, straight through Pennywise’s head, through his open maw. The monster topples out of sight, strange choking sounds echoing through the chamber. Eddie can barely believe it as he rushes to Richie’s side. He’s prone on the ground but he’s okay, he’s alive, he’s not caught in a trance like Bev once was.

Relief and elation run through Eddie all at once. He did it. He’d saved Richie. He’d _killed_ Pennywise.

And that’s it, the moment it all goes wrong. Pain bolts through his torso, cutting and grinding against his ribs. He looks down at Pennywise’s claw jutting through his stomach. He can feel the blood filling his lungs, taste it in his mouth.

“Richie,” he says, in the moment before Pennywise yanks him into the air, waving him about like a toy. There’s no air to be knocked out of his lungs as he’s thrown down the cave. They feel too heavy, his breathing too wet. He’s dying, he realizes with a cold sense of dread.

Richie falls to his knees in front of him, tears down both sides of his face. There’s a pain in his eyes that Eddie’s never seen before, has trouble looking at now. Richie’s always made a joke out of everything and now it’s Eddie who has to make a joke out of this.

“Eddie.” Richie’s right in front of him, clutching at his shirt like he’s trying to hold him together, but his voice sounds impossibly far away. “Eddie, wake up.”

He doesn’t need to wake up. He needs to survive.

“Eddie.” Someone is shaking his shoulders now, but there’s no one there. Richie is the only one, shoving his crumpled jacket against the gaping wound. “Eddie, come on.”

Breath fills Eddie’s lungs like fire as he bursts upright in bed. He pants, hands reaching for his stomach. There’s nothing there. Not even a scratch. Richie rolled him out of the way, when Pennywise tried to strike.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie falls backward on the bed, chest still heaving. His shirt clings to him, sticky with sweat. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay.” Richie kisses his temple, his nose, his cheeks. “You’re okay. _We_ _’re_ okay.”

“I know.” Eddie moves over, nudges Richie until he rolls onto his back. Richie’s heart beats against his cheek—a little faster than it should be, but strong and steady—as Eddie uses his chest as a pillow. “It was just a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Richie’s arm wraps around him, warm and secure.

“No.” Eddie twists, bracing himself on his hands. This kiss feels like something new, although he can’t put his finger on what’s different this time. Maybe it’s the silence and darkness enveloping them. Maybe it’s his mind trying to forget the reminder of how _close_ he’d been to death. Maybe it’s how relaxed Richie goes underneath him, warm and a bit sleepy.

Eddie’s hands find the hem of Richie’s shirt, pushing up underneath it for bare skin. His chest is broad and he finds a great deal more hair than he really expected.

He traces his way down Richie’s chest, fingertips brushing over his nipples, counting his ribs. Once he gets started, he can’t stop. He finds Richie’s shoulders, his chest, the points of his hips, his sides, what little of his back he can reach. There’s miles of skin for his fingers to catalog and he doesn’t want to miss an inch, but he always stops when he lands too close to Richie’s sweatpants.

Eddie’s following the trail of hair from Richie’s belly button downward when his wrist brushes against the front of Richie’s pants. His cock stands hard and alert, barely disguised by the thin cloth. Richie moans, the sound choked off as he bites down on his bottom lip.

“Sorry,” Richie says, his voice breaking.

“It’s okay.” Eddie’s throat feels almost raw. “It’s normal to experience an erection while sleeping—”

Richie presses a hand over his mouth. “If you want it to go away, all you have to do is keep talking.”

Eddie bites down on his palm, not hard enough for it to really hurt, but Richie jerks his hand away. “Ha. Ha.”

“You don’t have to stop.” Richie’s hands find his sides, the tips of his fingers pressing into skin beneath his shirt. “I’m fine—we don’t—I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

“You aren’t.” Eddie slides his hands back up, pausing at Richie’s chest, marveling at the way his nipples harden underneath his touch.

Richie holds him tighter, air hissing between his teeth. “I want to make you feel good, Eddie.”

In the dark, with the tease of Richie’s fingers barely touching his skin, it’s easy to say, “Yes.”

Richie guides Eddie over onto his back, situating himself between his thighs. He kisses him on the lips once, short and sweet, before moving down his neck, his sternum, his stomach. The kisses are open-mouthed and hot, and Eddie didn’t know that something so unintuitive could feel this good.

Richie pauses at the hem of Eddie’s sweatpants, hooking his fingers in the hem.

“Is this okay?” Richie asks, and Eddie can just barely see the concern written across his face through the darkness. The blankets are bunched over Richie’s shoulders, giving him an odd hulking appearance. Eddie would laugh if he had the patience to explain why.

Eddie pushes himself up on his elbows. His own sweatpants can’t disguise the fact that he’s already half-hard. “It’s fine.”

“If you want me to stop,” Richie says, dragging Eddie’s sweatpants down just enough for his cock to come free, “all you have to do is say the word.”

“I will.” Eddie runs a hand through Richie’s hair. He feels calm, _ready,_ for whatever Richie has in mind.

Richie leans down. Eddie can feel the heat of his breath against his cock in the moment before Richie takes the head into his mouth.

“Oh. Oh—Jesus.”

“I’m afraid Jesus isn’t here.” Richie backs off to run his teeth over the inside of Eddie’s thigh. His leg jerks and he very nearly knees Richie in the shoulder. “Can I take a message?”

“I always knew you’d talk this much in bed too,” Eddie mumbles, his arms giving out underneath him. He lands back flat on the pillows as Richie continues to mouth at his thigh.

“So you’re saying you’ve thought about this before.” Richie’s voice is a low purr. Any response that Eddie might’ve thrown back is lost when Richie sucks his cock back into his mouth.

It’s wet, and hot, and it feels—it _feels_ —Eddie thinks he finally understands what the big deal is. Richie hums, hands wrapped around Eddie’s thighs to keep him from moving. He licks and sucks and mouths at Eddie’s cock, taking him in deeper, inch by inch. It’s slow in a way that keeps Eddie waiting to see what comes next.

“God, God, God,” Eddie repeats, his voice more high-pitched than he’d ever care to admit. He doesn’t know how much longer he can last, when Richie hollows his cheeks and presses the flat of his tongue along the underside.

Richie draws back, letting Eddie’s cock slide along his tongue, and it’s heat and friction and it’s _not enough._ Eddie’s hips buck up before he even knows that’s an option, shoving his cock deeper into Richie’s mouth.

Richie releases him, sputtering, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Guilt washes over Eddie all at once, his cock softening. He pushes himself up on one elbow, reaching out to cup Richie’s cheek with his free hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Richie grins, nuzzling into his palm. “I’m fine, Eds. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. It’s still new.” Richie’s tongue flicks out against the pad of his thumb. “Try to relax, okay? Do you want to try again?”

Eddie glances down.

“Don’t worry about that.” Richie wraps his fingers around Eddie’s length, giving it a slow stroke. “You’re just a little shy.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“I think that’s what we’re doing.” Richie teases him hard again with soft strokes of his hand, quick licks around the crown. It feels like no time at all before Richie’s taking him back down and he’s teetering on the edge all over again.

Eddie flops back against the pillow and stretches his legs out. If he doesn’t have any leverage, he reasons that he won’t be able to hurt Richie. He doesn’t count on how vulnerable it feels this way, how much he’s at Richie’s mercy. He can’t even see Richie, isn’t at all prepared for the moment when he relaxes his throat and takes him _all_ the way down.

“ _Rich,_ _”_ Eddie gasps before his voice devolves into little pants and moans, contained to his throat as he best he can. Richie hollows his cheeks, sucks, and he can’t handle any more. Eddie’s hand finds Richie’s against his thigh, squeezes as he comes. Richie swallows it all, his mouth working around Eddie’s oversensitive skin.

Eddie laughs, breathless and incredulous, as Richie sits up on his knees, watching. He feels like he’s in another dream, one that he never wants to wake up from. He laughs, again, when he realizes that he doesn’t have to. This is real. Richie is real.

“Can I—” Eddie motions toward him, in the general direction of his pants, hidden beneath the blankets. He’s not sure what he intends to _do_ but he can work on that part when he gets there.

“Don’t worry about it,” Richie says, staring down at his chest rather than looking him in the eye.

“I want to.” Eddie leans closer, hesitates, and drops a kiss on Richie’s forehead.

Richie pushes away from him and out of bed. He moves slow and awkward, as if his pants are wet. “I’m—not sure there’s much point in it now.”

“Oh. _Oh._ _”_ Eddie’s mind goes blank and, for the second time tonight, he feels like he’s been clocked in the head. He wonders if it’s possible to get a concussion simply from shock. “You—you came from blowing me.”

“I’m going to go clean up,” Richie says and leaves Eddie alone with his thoughts. It’s a dangerous place for him to be at the best of times.

Eddie sinks into the mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling, and tucks himself back into place. So far tonight he’s kissed Richie, come to bed with him, agreed to try dating him, and received a blow job from him. It’s a lot to take in, especially considering he lives in New York and Richie lives on the road, moving from city to city, tour to tour. He barely knows how to have a normal relationship—how’s he supposed to do this with Richie?

Maybe that’s the point, though, he muses. He’s never been normal and neither has Richie. They’ve murdered a demon clown together _twice._ Surely they can handle building a relationship together after all of that.

The door creaks open and Richie climbs back into bed. He stretches out on his side and the distance between them feels like miles. Eddie reaches out first, his hand landing on Richie’s ribs. “You okay?”

“Fine. Can’t believe I just came in my pants like some kind of virgin.” Richie smiles at him but there’s an edge in his eyes, like disappointment. “You’re just too gorgeous when you come, Eddie.”

“I’ll give you another chance.” Eddie snaps the waistband of Richie’s sweatpants against his skin. “Why did we waste so much time?”

“Fear.” Richie presses a kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. It tastes like mint toothpaste. “That’s all it comes down to, isn’t it?”

“We kissed.” Eddie remembers Richie in the light of the television, a kiss that tasted like too much sugar. “When we were kids. Why did it only happen once?”

“I don’t know. I guess it was easier that way, for both of us.” Richie’s smile twists in a way that Eddie wishes he could erase. Maybe he could, with a kiss, but then Richie continues, “I carved our initials into the Kissing Bridge, you know.”

“You did? When?”

“Right before Pennywise.” Richie draws a heart with his fingertips against Eddie’s chest. “The first time, I mean.”

“God, you really did have a crush on me.” Eddie laughs but there’s no humor in it. “I’d like to see it.”

“They’re still there.” Richie’s hand traces up his ribs and then back down. “We could take a trip, if you wanted to go back there.”

Eddie swallows hard, a shiver running down his spine. Even knowing Pennywise is gone, it’s still hard to imagine setting foot back in that place. “Someday.”

“I love you,” Richie says, in a rush, as if he couldn’t stop the words if he wanted to. He freezes, his entire body going stiff as his mind catches up with his mouth. “ _Fuck._ Shit. I shouldn’t—I don’t know—we haven’t—dinner.”

Eddie places a hand over his mouth, stemming off the tide. “I don’t know,” he confesses. “But I still want to take me to dinner tomorrow so we can find out.”


End file.
